Something Wicked...

Tripping out totally on Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. It's almost in verse: and so wonderfully obtuse at times that it's brooding menace seems but a half-formed dream. And all too suddenly Bradbury's vivid word paintings bring every shivering pixel of the nightmare sharply to life. You can't put this one down without spots dancing in front of your eyes.

Spent a few days last week in a mouldering government office. Dusty red-oxide floors with a fine tracery of cracks. Old chairs, seats polished by the polycot posteriors of countless babus whose primary function was, of course, to keep the wood warm. The smell of half-done work. Hair oil. Dusty steel cabinets covered with gummy bits of old posters, notices, appeals, god knows what. Stacks of yellowing paper, bound with twine of terrible intent. Endure this to finally enjoy audience with a self-important little guy who promises to help, knowing as a matter of course that some essential grease is required to move these tiny wheels of governance. Rational Anarchy! Where art thou?!

Picked up a whole bunch of more Heinlein from friendly neighbourhood used book store. Have a whole lot of reading to do...